


Glowing

by Nothoney



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: 90 percent trisha/hoho, Gen, edwin if you squint really hard, if the character has been dead the whole show, it's not major charcter death, mentions of sarah/urei, some platonic pinako/hoho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 04:49:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11684418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nothoney/pseuds/Nothoney
Summary: The beams, walls, ceiling, everything was in charred ruin. Moss grew everywhere. The tree had survived, but the swing hadn't. Everything was covered in a blanket of abandon. His heart wrenched, much like it had in the moments when he saw Xerxes without a single soul. Silent. Dead.He wondered if it was he who carried desolation around with him wherever he went.





	Glowing

He'd been having dreams of her for years. Ever since the day he left her at their doorstep, burdened by the kids--their kids--she had been stealing into his every waking and sleeping thought. The want, need, to be near her, to watch her, to embrace her, to protect her, at every possible moment, overpowered every other need of his body.  
There had been a time when Hohenheim held no hope for ever harboring such feelings for anyone. Yet, there she was, hands clasped over her apron, standing at the doorway of their house, a welcoming smile on her face, locks of her hair buoyed by the breeze. The two boys running around the grounds, fighting over the swing he'd made the night before leaving. Drawing the string tighter around his heart. Calling. Beckoning. He blinked, and the image dissolved around him to the ceiling of the a train over his bunk.  
"You sure are a dreamy old fool, number 23," a voice familiar from centuries of internal conversation chuckled somewhere in his head. That guy was hovering near his right ear. Hohenheim pressed the embarrassment down. "You have everyone you care about inside of me, Xenoch," he thought to the floating soul.  
"All while poor you has to travel around the country trying to be noble."  
Some of Hohenheim's other souls rose up to fight Xenoch. Hohenheim had lost track of the number of times this had happened in all his years carrying them around. He closed his eyes. Thoughts of Trisha began to swirl in his mind once again. The need to protect her. And the kids. Edward and Alphonse. He wondered how they were doing.  
He wondered how she was doing.  
.  
The first time he saw her, it was at the yearly bonfire Resembool held. He'd hardly noticed her then, dancing and prancing around the fire with all the youths of the village. Sarah drew more attention with her brilliant blond hair and blue eyes, while Trisha, with her plain chestnut hair and brown eyes seemed to blend into the background. Not that he gave any of them more than a passing glance. Self pity took up most of his time anyway.  
But the longer he stayed around Pinako, the more obvious it became that her son and Sarah was going to be a thing. And with Sarah came Trisha. Politely standing back, watching her best friend's happiness. Laughing and crying according to the situation. Quietly supporting. He didn't even notice when he started paying more attention to her than to some of the voices in his head.  
Like Xenoch. That joker.  
When he looked at her as a separate entity, he realized she didn't follow Sarah around blindly because she was lonely. She did it because Sarah was a sensitive soul, and felt the need to help her friend where everyone else would have desolated. He found himself hoping she didn't get hurt, like many of her kind did by virtue of their nature when others took advantage of it. Like he did.  
.  
The night would have been etched vividly in his memory if it hadn't been for all the alcohol in his system. It had been a particularly dreary week, which resulted in him feeling at least ten times more pathetic and useless than usual. He didn't even remember what had caused it.  
He'd been staying at Pinako's, because why the hell not? She had also been staying, because the rain was pouring in through the cracks in the ceiling of her house, and how could Sarah sleep in a warm bed while her soul sister froze? He had alcohol to keep him warm, she had Sarah's spare nightgown and blankets. Something brought her down to the living room in the middle of the night. All he remembered were entreaties to not drink so much, it’s bad for your health. He'd laughed, almost launched into an explanation, and then stopped himself. She wouldn't understand.  
She was there when he woke up the next day. He sensed a demand in the soft curiosity of her voice as she asked what gnawed at him so much.  
It was on that day that the other's presence began to grow on the other.  
.  
Things grew.  
First it was the cracks in ceiling at her house. They widened their jaws until by the middle of winter being inside didn't feel any different from being outside. He offered to fix them, and when she said she didn't have any money to buy wood, or anything to barter with, he said he wasn't doing it as a gig. A little bit of alchemy when she wasn't looking was enough.  
Then, it was her questioning glances. He facepalmed. He'd underestimated her when he thought a square meter of shining new wood would escape her notice. She started demanding answers in that subtle kind way of hers. He couldn't bring himself to lie to her. She would definitely think he was a freak or a huge liar afterwards, he just knew it. But he cut his finger on a wine glass once, and she watched transfixed as crackles of energy fixed the broken skin in seconds.  
Instead of awkwardness growing next, warmth grew. She offered him a place to sleep when Pinako threw him out after winning a bet. Underneath the roof he'd fixed with his magic. ("I hear bells, 23," Xenoch tittered. "Shut the hell up," he'd retorted.) Funny he should bring Truth into this, but in all honesty, when she was anywhere near him, his eyes seemed to be drawn to her in the way iron is to magnets. He heard her voice even when she was miles away, telling him to cut down on the alcohol. Her presence was almost like the sun. Even if he wasn't looking he knew she was there. Something told him she wasn't getting any more respite than he was.  
Pinako's teasing bloated up after that. Oh she could see the way he looked at Trisha. He should man up and say something. She was sure she felt the same way, he just had to ask. But he wasn't so sure himself. Trisha didn't have any living relations. She watched kids for working parents down at the town, and lived by herself in the house her parents had left her by what meager money she made. If she had any blood relations, any guardians, he was sure they'd slam the door in his face if he so much as even looked at her.  
"You do yourself an immense amount of injustice," Pinako had said to that, drawing on her pipe. Her posture had drooped over by then, as well as her alcohol tolerance. "You ever see her when she's around you? She's practically glowing." Shaking some of the ash out of her pipe, she murmured, "let's not even start talking about you glowing."  
He'd looked away, feeling the blood rushing to his face. "Well, maybe someone else can make her glow better," he mumbled back.  
Pinako had snorted.  
She wasn't about to give up so easily, though. An elaborate plan was hatched which resulted in him asking Trisha to marry him. Or that's what Pinako liked to think, at least. He'd finally only done it of his own accord.  
.  
The first time he saw it on a newspaper, he almost believed he was dreaming. He was convinced. It was a weird sort of dream. Why was Edward alone? He'd always thought the two siblings would be inseparable. The article itself made no sense. State alchemist? Automail limbs? Brother inside a suit of armor? It had to be a dream. A very realistic one, because he could feel the breeze in his hair, the contacts of his spectacled on the bridge of his nose, he could hear the whistle of the train.  
And then an unsuspecting porter had bumped into him.  
Hohenheim looked around, gathered himself. This wasn't a dream. Fullmetal Alchemist. Automail. Youngest state alchemist to be granted commission.  
Edward would only be about twelve, if his math was correct. Eleven year old Alphonse in such a gigantic suit of armor? For the first time since leaving Resembool, he felt his gut tightening. Something had happened. He had to find out what.  
.  
He kept track of the newspapers for any news of his sons. The first of these mentioned something about transmutation without circles, and his blood almost froze. Edward had done it. He had seen Truth. That, paired up with nothing, not even a letter about any family, convinced him that something had happened to Trisha.  
Sleep wouldn't come that night.  
.  
"Hoho," the voice of an elderly lady whispered, concerned. "What's the matter?"  
"He wants to go home," Xenoch fake whispered. If he had a body he would cup his hands around his mouth, and pretend to be hiding from Hohenheim. "He misses her too much."  
At any other time he would have protested. But right now he was too tired. There was too much to think about, too many things to worry about, too many factors that could change, too much uncertainty about the future.  
How would Edward and Alphonse react to him going home? How would things be? Had the left the swing in place? What would Pinako say? Was Trisha well? Why had Ed opened the gate?  
"You should go, then," the woman's voice said. He remembered that she'd been a housewife all her life, her husband a soldier for the king of Xerxes. She'd watched the men of her family leave and waited for them to come back all through her years. First her father and brothers. Then her husband and sons, and then their sons after.  
He hummed to her. He did want to go home. He wanted it so much. But if he couldn't be certain that they'd be safe, there would be no point, and more than anyone else, he knew what was happening behind the scenes of the over-glorified military conquests of Amestris. He alone had the knowledge and the means to stop history from repeating itself. He owed it to the world to do it.  
He owed it to Trisha and the kids to do it.  
Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself. Just a few more months. Just a few more.  
.  
Some people recognized him immediately when he disembarked at Risembool station. He didn't have to wait for them to speak. He knew something had gone horribly wrong since he'd left from the looks on their faces. They exchanged pleasantries. It’s been so long, Ed and Al are making us proud, it’s so sad what happened.  
What happened? he wanted to ask. But stopped himself when some of them mentioned Ed arriving on the morning train flanked a burly blond officer and heading out toward the east.  
"You just missed him," an old acquaintance said. "But I suppose if you stay around you'll bump into him. He never leaves without paying a visit to the Rockbells. Gets some extra maintenance done this way too."  
It took Hohenheim a moment to connect the dots. "For his Automail?"  
A nod was his reply. The old man skeptically scratched his chin the next moment. "Although the Rockbell girl is in Rush Valley at the moment, under an apprenticeship. And Pinako never does his maintenance."  
"I see."  
Hohenheim remembered, a moment too late, that this guy had a knack for losing track of time and occasion appropriateness whenever he opened his mouth. Trisha and he had shared quite a few laughs at his expense.  
"It was so sad when Trisha left us," he continued, "And then the boys were all by themselves until something came and ate Ed's arm and leg. Alphonse won't come out of that armor either. And then that colonel came down from Eastern Command and took them away. I don't suppose they ever contacted you?"  
Hohenheim had stopped breathing at the first sentence, and now he drew in a breath to answer. The air was lead in his lungs, his tongue a piece of dry wood. "No," he replied. "I didn't leave a mailing address."  
"Ah, that's too bad. The boys were all by themselves all this time, although the Rockbells really helped. Now they always stay there. No other place to go you know?" A mischievous glint came over the man's eye. "I can bet Ed has a thing for Winry."  
No other place to go? Something eating Ed's limbs? He was still recovering from the news of Trisha's death. This was much more than he could swallow in one go.  
He'd been expecting it, of course. He had a feeling something had happened to Trisha that first day. But he'd been hoping it was just a superstition. A lot of people believed in those things. Even in Xing. Where they could refer to it simply as the underlying current of energy of the earth, they like to call it the dragon's breath. He'd hoped that the gut wrenching feeling was just a result of his anxiousness over leaving them.  
He said goodbye to his acquaintance with some difficulty, and began the trek toward his house. Their house, her house, the house on top of the hill. The sorry sight greeted him from a long way off. The beams, walls, ceiling, everything in charred ruin. Moss grew everywhere. The tree had survived, but the swing hadn't. Everything was covered in a blanket of abandon. His heart wrenched, much like it had in the moments when he saw Xerxes without a single soul. Silent. Dead.  
He wondered if it was he who carried desolation around with him wherever he went.  
He closed his eyes against the onslaught of hot tears. What had he done wrong? What did he need to do differently that he hadn't been able to catch soon enough? What could've prevented this?  
Another thought invaded his mind. If he did meet Edward, what was he going to say? How would he apologize?  
.  
The sun was setting everything on fire. This was the exact shade it had been the day they got married. They'd been facing each other, like they were now, except neither of them was dead and buried.  
What had he expected when he charged for the cemetery from the hill that had once been his home? That he could bring her back? He knew that was impossible. As if not enough people had been through Truth's gate trying to achieve this very feat and lost something even bigger.  
Edward and Alphonse had tried this as well, he realized with a start. What else--how else--could things have gone so wrong?  
A few hot tears slipped down his cheeks despite his best attempts. They fell onto his shoes, the dirt at his feet. Could she feel the wetness of them down there?  
A distant scrapping of boots against the stony path leading to the cemetery snagged his attention. His eyes were caught as soon as they were directed toward the source of the sound. He recognized those overhanging bangs, a strange mixture of hair texture between his and Trisha's, the exact shade as his. And the eyes. She'd said a few times they were his eyes.  
They were frozen in place, unsure of the other's position in their life. Hohenheim kept his features schooled to a quiet numbness. But he could swear he saw his younger resentful self in the glare End fixed him with.  
Finally, it was the younger alchemist who broke the silence. "Hohenheim," he bit out. The ice in the tone didn't surprise him, but it did sprinkle salt on his wounds.  
"You burned down my house," he retorted, unable to repress the resentment.  
Ed looked ready to retort himself, but checked his tongue by glancing toward the headstone at Hohenheim's feet.  
Somewhere in the back of his head, he could almost hear Trisha's admonishing voice. Ed must've been hurting too. Of course he was, and Hohenheim had more experience dealing with loss anyway. But he was bad with kids. So bad. He needed Trisha to help him figure this out.  
The irony.  
The voices in his head were at a loss for what to say. Even Xenoch, for a change. It was too quiet.  
.  
Many times during the succeeding months, even when he had been standing face to face with his face-stealer, Hohenheim found himself going back to that one moment, and giving himself a hard kick in the ass. One moment he had to prove to Edward that he cared, and even that he messed up. Trisha really would be disappointed.  
Granted he'd missed the bulk of their lives, and would miss the rest no doubt, but however much of his kids he had seen had warmed his heart. In that respect Trisha had been right, he thought smiling down at her headstone. He'd been afraid any connection to him would curse them, and had believed that even on the day he had last been here. But they were his kids, his and Trisha's. And he was every bit as human as her. How many times had she reminded him of that? Because they were his kids, they had grown into the sense of justice that made them who they were.  
It was true that they wouldn't have performed that first transmutation that changed their lives forever if they were anybody else's kids, but that would mean everything would be different, and who knew how things would be if they weren't how they were now?  
Maybe Truth. But he wasn't one to care.  
"Trisha," he said letting the strength leave his knees. "Edward called me 'dad', although he tacked on 'good-for-nothing' at the front." He chuckled.  
The life force was slowly pulsating out of him with each beat of his heart. He could feel it in the way his fingers no longer responded. He wasn't going to touch anything anymore. Every breath grew weaker, failing to reach as far as the previous one had.  
This was it. Five hundred years, wandering the earth like the lost soul he was.  
"I don't need anything more," he whispered. The alchemy that had forged his body into the immortal vessel it had been so long was coming undone. "Thank you for everything, Trisha."

**Author's Note:**

> This is a product of listening to he FMAB OST on repeat, especially the Trisha's Lullaby, Resembool's Lullaby, and any variations of these. I remember there was a two violin duet and I always imagined one being Hohenheim and the other being Trisha telling their story.  
> I know the general opinion about Hohenhem being kinda promiscuous before Trisha but i decided to not think about that. Hope you liked it.


End file.
